Under Attack by Hannah Jayne Page A

dragon—stomped over to me, a thick sheaf of papers clutched in her manicured claw.
    â€œSophie—finally, someone who knows what she’s doing. I tell you, that—that— vampire that you have working behind the counter is completely useless. Has she ever heard of customer service? I don’t think so.” Mrs. Henderson turned up her nose, tiny tendrils of black smoke trailing from each nostril. I stepped aside.
    â€œIt’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Henderson.”
    Mrs. Henderson and Nina had a long history of glaring at each other and mild name calling, usually culminating with someone (Nina) being set on fire and someone else (me) coming in to diffuse the situation and sign off on whatever dingbat issue was cheesing Mrs. Henderson off at the moment. Apparently, this afternoon it was Mrs. Henderson’s inability to collect alimony from Mr. Henderson, who took up with a showgirl he met on a dragon’s weekend in Vegas.
    â€œWe’ve got little ones, you know. How am I supposed to feed them?” Mrs. Henderson clutched at her pashmina scarf with her jeweled hand and batted her eyelashes.
    â€œThe UDA was supposed to serve him with the papers and garnish his wages. I know for a fact he’s making very good money over there at the Luxor, that louse. I’m just so concerned about my little ones.” She choked a manufactured wailing sob.
    Mrs. Henderson’s little ones—two ornery, grey-scaled teenaged creatures—were stretched out on our waiting-room chairs, madly texting on their matching iPhones, Juicy Couture sweatpants pushed up over their scaly knees.
    I took the papers Mrs. Henderson was waving. “I’ll get these approved right away for you, Mrs. Henderson. I’ll get this request in by the end of the day and we can send out a gargoyle to serve Mr. Henderson tomorrow morning. Your check should be here by the end of the week.”
    Mrs. Henderson clasped her hands. “Oh, Sophie, you’re just a lifesaver! I don’t care what they say about you—I really think the UDA is lucky to have you.”
    â€œUm, thank you,” I started.
    She quickly put her finger to her narrow lips and her eyes took on a more sinister hue as they looked off into the distance. “Make sure you have the gargoyle get there early in the morning. I only wish I could see the look on that little showgirl-breather’s face when she opens the door to a gargoyle.” Mrs. Henderson seemed to remember I was there then and smiled kindly at me, big eyelashes batting. “You know, for the children.”
    I nodded and Mrs. Henderson turned on her heel, leaving me to skip over her long tail. I stumbled backward and got poked in the shoulder by a pushpin holding up a VERM poster advertising their latest meeting. Then I walked down the hall to find Nina.
    â€œMaggots, ugh!” Nina spit out her pale tongue as she sat across from me at her desk. “That is so gross. I hate when maggots get on my food.” She shuddered while I arched my eyebrows. “That’s why I stopped eating leftovers.”
    I shut out the image of a half-drained human wrapped in tinfoil that might have once been in Nina’s fridge.
    â€œSo, I wonder what Ophelia’s deal is.”
    â€œI don’t know. Just messing with me?”
    Nina bit her fingernail. “Yeah, but I thought we were in a fight to the finish for this vase thing. Why would Ophelia be sitting around tossing bugs on stuff when she could be out trapping souls in the Vase of the Lord?”
    â€œIt’s the Vessel of Souls. And I have no idea. But I know who might.”
    Nina looked up at me, interested.
    â€œMy father was there, Nina. It was him. I need to find him. I think he might be able to answer some questions, help us out with this Vessel thing.”
    â€œSophie, are you sure about this?”
    I stood up, wringing my hands. “No, but I know that I have to. Everything is